"Twins," Foeslayer explained.
The two hatchlings looked silently up at the ancient dragon looming over them. Her black eyes flickered together with the faraway torchlight as a cold wind blew through the chamber.
"I had expected a third," she said.
"There are only two, Your Reverence," repeated Foeslayer. "Male and female."
The massive dragon stared down at Foeslayer's daughter, who shrank away from her gaze. "Blue eyes," said the sibyl. "Unsettling on a NightWing face."
"My husband, Arctic..." Foeslayer swallowed as she remembered the argument they'd had over their dragonets' names—she had waited to come here until he was fast asleep, knowing he would disapprove of the ritual. "We agreed to each name one. He would like the girl to be called Whiteout."
"Whiteout." The oracle took the dragonet with bright white wings in her palm. She squeaked as she was raised up to the elder's discerning eye. Though she tried to repress it, Foeslayer's eyes welled with worry.
"Wait," she said, and she anxiously met the sibyl's gaze as it turned from her daughter. "Do you need to? Since we've already agreed..."
The old prophetess said nothing. Even as the hatchling squirmed in her palm, she kept her eyes on Foeslayer.
She was forced to take a breath and finish her sentence. "All you have to do is confirm the names, right? We agreed on that. You don't have to... look into the future."
The oracle's black eyes betrayed nothing as they bore into Foeslayer. "I named you, Foeslayer. My predecessor named your mother and your grandmother. Her predecessor named your great-grandmother. For me not to name your daughter is a disgrace to my line and yours."
"But that's not what we agreed on!" blurted Foeslayer. She flushed with shame when she realised how loud she had been. Quieter, she continued: "You're going to name her Whiteout, right?"
"I will dub her as such," answered the sibyl calmly. "Mothers are always free to name their dragonets in our stead. Regardless, it is an IceWing name, and so I have no power over it. First, however, I must fulfil my duty and divine a suitable NightWing name for her."
Foeslayer dipped her head reluctantly, and the oracle looked back into her daughter's eyes. She watched with trepidation as the black pits in the high prophetess' face nigh-imperceptibly glazed over. Her arm began to shake, and Foeslayer watched with fear as her daughter looked close to slipping out of the old seer's claw. Just as she was about to run over to catch her, the dragonet was seized tightly and the oracle became rigid. Once she relaxed, she laid the girl softly down next to her brother before looking again to Foeslayer.
"She is thrice-moonborn," she stated, "but she will not succeed me. Terrible foresight makes wise, desperate, and abstruse her words, with which she shall lead in a time of great uncertainty. I see more but will not tell. Her name is Belief, but she is called Whiteout."
Foeslayer shivered. She took Whiteout away from the sibyl and held her tightly. She looked to her son, lying peacefully in the great seer's shadow. "We would..." Foeslayer swallowed, her heart fluttering. "I would like to name him Darkstalker—as in, he stalks the dark. He hunts it, chases it away. The darkness—"
"I understand," said the sibyl, and Foeslayer felt a bit embarrassed. She took the boy and lifted him up like she had Whiteout. He was silent and still in her claw. She looked down at him and again Foeslayer saw her eyes wander elsewhere. She was relieved to see that the seer was not spasming as she had before, but this contentment lasted only until a cry rang out, muffled, from the claw she had taken the dragonet in. Her grip was terribly tight. Foeslayer hurried towards the seer, unsure of what to do, when her eyes flew open, the black now fully white in a way Foeslayer had not seen before. Her ancient, yellowed teeth were clenched together, but bile seeped through the cracks. Her jaw opened just enough for a laboured groan to echo out of her throat. Foeslayer watched in horror as her son continued to cry out and the prophetess' groan turned to a pained scream. Just as she was about to run and get help, the sound ceased at once and she found herself having caught her son, who was now weeping, in her arms.
The sibyl stood up and looked down at the pair. "Realise now," she intoned breathlessly, intently staring at the harmless dragonet as his mother slowly backed away, "that I am bound to take no action on what I foresee and to tell nothing but what is needed to understand a name I give. Realise now that my commitment to this law is tried here more than ever before or again."
"Why?" Foeslayer whispered, wrapping her son in her wings. The sibyl's quaking eyes were filled with a terrible fear the likes of which Foeslayer had never seen.
"I will not tell," she gasped. She inhaled hastily and said gravely: "I will not tell."
Whiteout had begun crying as well, and Foeslayer was forced to gather her two dragonets under her wings. She couldn't help but feel a bit angry with the oracle, though she knew it wasn't her fault. "What is his name?"
The sibyl took shallow breaths. "Darkstalker is his name. Many shall know it. I see much more but will not tell. I will not tell."
Foeslayer's heart hammered against her chest. Questions whirled in her head, screaming, but she knew the sibyl would answer none of them. Everything that had happened felt like it came from one of the nightmares she had when she was still with egg—fast, terrifying, and nonsensical, but now it was all real and happening before her. Eager to leave her terrible presence, she bowed to the sibyl, clutching her dragonets tight. "Thank you, Your Reverence."
"It is my duty," replied the oracle. "Now go. Do not return. Speak of these events to no one."
Foeslayer nodded and hurriedly flew out of the window, shielding her dragonets from the wind and the moonlight. She hoped she hadn't already failed. She hoped... she hoped her little Darkstalker would be okay.
Moons, did she hope.